


Wildflower

by FoxLight



Series: The Strawberry Shortcake Chronicles [9]
Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Lucky Charms?, Mawkish Fluff, Romance, Smut, St. Patrick's Day, springtime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 05:33:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14230395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxLight/pseuds/FoxLight
Summary: Horses, and flowers, and shamrocks, oh my.





	Wildflower

**Author's Note:**

> Bit late for the holiday, but this piece took its time. 
> 
> A gargantuan thank you to A3rie, who beta'd this fic in my time of need. Such a wonderful soul!
> 
> Rated E for "everyone loses their clothing. "
> 
> Graphic language.
> 
> To prevent my soul from further damnation, please do not go further than this note if you are under 18.

The sunlight shimmered through the leaves in into her bubbling eyes as she reclined against the picnic blanket they’d stretched across the ground. Walter reflected her amusement, leaning over her as he crossed his legs, and pinched her nose in jest. 

“This is my work uniform." He feigned a grumble. "I think I’m exempt.”

“Nope,” she shook her head. “No green, no mercy.” Her hand dove beneath the jacket to pinch him again along his ribcage. 

“That’s for pinching my nose.”

“Gah,” he clutched at his side, “the brutality.”

“Oww,” she gripped at her own ribcage. “I think something bit me.”

“Karma?” he laughed, knowing full well it was the bond between them.

“Hey, I’m not the one cheating here.” Two ruddy brows rose, and she gestured to her green shirt. “I wore mine.”

If only she knew how green he actually was, he thought. “And what of my eyes, love? Do they not count?”

“Hmm,” she squinted, “dirty tactics, but I guess you have a point.”

“Dirty tactics? Me?” he said as his face edged closer, pupils darkening with fondness. “Never.”

“Uh-uh,” she tutted as a finger rose to block his lips. “You don’t even look remotely Irish.”

“I’m beginning to dislike this holiday.” Walter said, pressing his lips against her fingers regardless. She was teasing him, of course -- making her own game out of the festivities of the day -- and he was happy to play along. Rare, it seemed, that they both had the time to enjoy such frivolities. But he’d been determined that morning, and had left the school early to be with her. Her next shift was forty-eight hours in the future, and with Jim preoccupied until later that evening, there was plenty of time to dally. He’d picked her up for a noonday picnic at Arcadia Oaks Park, and they’d lunched on a meal of cold, honeyed chicken with fresh bread, sliced cheeses, and a fruit salad -- the latter of which was generously packed with strawberries along with other fresh delights. All of it, he’d prepared that morning (baking the bread himself, thank you very much) and stuffed into a large, wicker picnic basket the likes of which Barbara had only ever seen in period films or old paintings.

“For color,” he’d said of the strawberries with a look of feral pride as he held one out and watched her bite into its plump, red surface.

If he was cocky, it didn’t last long. Teeth bearing slowly down on the fruit, she took in its flesh with lidded eyes, granting its sweetness a contented moan -- and the way she licked her lips after…

It was a good thing they’d tucked themselves behind a crop of bushes near the lake. There was no questioning her seductive prowess. He let himself indulge in a few fevered glances and touches before forcing his hands and eyes back into the realm of propriety. There were a few things that he rather preferred to keep distant from the wandering eyes (and phones) of his students and colleagues, but her taunting made it difficult to behave. The entire meal went on like that, both of them playing some unspoken game. By the time dessert rolled upon them, he felt like he was going to burst. 

Now, having long since been sated with their meal, she admired the cotton blanket he’d brought along. It sported a blue-and-white checkered pattern, and billowed against their weight in the wind.

“But I don’t think the rule states that you can’t kiss someone who’s _not_ Irish,” he continued the conversation, “just that it’s extra luck to kiss someone who is. It’s the next best thing to planting one on the Blarney Stone.”

“Blarney stone?” she laughed.

“Oh, an old chunk of castle surrounded in myth—said to gift a man with a silver tongue upon its kissing,” he explained. “Legend has it that Irish immigrants carried the luck of the stone with them when they came into the new world, and thus the tradition began. Now, I may not look at all related to their Celtic stock, but you, my dear companion, are about as fiery haired and hearted as they come.” He tangled a loose set of fingers through her rusty locks.

“Oh, but you’re already such a smooth talker.”

He snorted through his amusement in a way that made him seem entirely bookish, but it only sparked further affection in her eyes.

“Hardly.” The side of his lips canted upward. “With you, I am most often reduced to babbles.”

“Or moans,” her face grew coy.

At that, his pupils darkened, neck and cheeks flushing with ardor. Suddenly, their location seemed inconvenient -- entirely too rooted in the public eye.

A laugh overcame her as her fingers traced his chin, and she pulled him down to claim her prize — whatever game they were playing, she’d won. She’d won it by a landslide.

Enchanted, his head dipped down and he nudged his nose against hers. It prompted an acquiescing hum as her lips parted with expectance. He brushed his lips against hers once, then twice, before finally taking her mouth wholly in his.

Sucking in a breath, her back arched as his tongue brushed the roof of her mouth. She responded eagerly, clean nails scratching gently across the nape of his neck as she encouraged his movements. 

“My God,” he gasped between fervent breaths as he felt the pangs of her desire striking through the bond.

“Yeah,” she half-whispered in agreement, one sock-clad foot rubbing up and down his calf. “Your place or mine?”

It was just as he pulled back to catch her eyes and address the question that he heard it: the sound of distant thunder, followed by a light line of yelps and screams.

“Walt?” she asked, noting his distraction. Then, it touched her ears as well. “What the...?” Her head tilted back, trying to look behind them from her position on the ground, “is that an earthquake? I don’t feel it.”

“No,” he said distractedly as he squinted, trying to carve a figure through the leaves, hoping to God that it wasn’t some Stalkling or shade-protected troll.

She turned beneath him, rising up on her elbows to get a better look. “Ok, tell me I haven’t clocked too many hours and am hallucinating seeing a horse?” 

“Oh, that is no hallucination,” he said, as the gray thing rounded on them and began galloping toward their corner of the park. 

Walter jumped to his feet, nearly lifting her into the air as he helped her up. With no time to don his shoes, he jogged forward and toward the riled beast, which was without a rider and hurdling at full speed. Spreading two arms in the air, palms wide, he tried to make himself look bigger as he shouted out a low call. It slowed the creature, but didn’t deter it entirely, and before either of them knew it, it was almost upon him.

“Walt!” Barbara shouted, fear that she was about to see her lover pummeled striking as hard as the surrounding hoofbeats. Her voice lost itself to the cascade of noise as it pounded against her eardrums.

At the very last second he sidestepped and grabbed ahold of the horse’s reins as he jumped. Using the momentum of both the beast and his push, he twisted his body up and sideways until he’d managed to awkwardly straddle the horse’s neck and saddle. Hoisting himself, he adjusted his position until he was seated properly, and then promptly pulled back on the reins.

He heard the disagreeing roar, followed by a shower of grunts and squeals as the horse reeled and spun.

Barbara, having witnessed all of this in a matter of seconds, merely blinked in shock.

Walter grunted as he tried to calm the creature down, not letting it go forward. It shook and threw its head, withers covered in sweat as it gnashed its teeth and frothed against the bit.

What she saw before her was a panicked creature not unlike the majority of her ER patients, something that needed to be calmed and reassured against the threat it perceived. She’d began walking toward them—not too close, not too far—until she was only a few feet from their mark.

The beast jumped again, and whinnied, and squealed, until it caught the flash of blue in Barbara’s eyes.

Silence. It stopped the moment it saw her, standing straight, head raised and slightly cocked, transfixed.

Walter’s brows furrowed in consternation. He could see that she, too, was surprised.

“That was fast,” she recovered in a beat. “and pretty impressive on your part.”

“Mine?” he tilted his head and laughed as he tried to get the horse to turn. It wouldn’t. “I’ve never seen what you just did. I expected that to go on for another ten minutes at least.”

Closer to it now, she could see that it was lightly dappled—white with specks of brown and silver all over. Its eyes, no longer flaring, were deep and brown when they caught the sun, and its gaze was frozen in hers. She took a step forward. It nickered.

“I wonder how it--” she bent down to look below its belly, “how _he_ got here.” She commented, though she didn't look to Walter, once more netted within the horse's gaze.

“He must have come from the parade, what with all this fancy tack,” he remarked, brushing his hand over the black-dyed leather and silver adornments. “Probably his first time, if I had to guess. The gathering crowds must’ve spooked him.“

“Doesn’t that start at the intersection of Main and Braddock? God, that has to be two or three miles away.”

“He’s a young thing, not a gelding, and an Irish Warmblood, if I had to guess -- basically a sport horse. He’s quite capable.”

“Well yeah, but geez. Poor thing’s exhausted.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, eyeing the sheen of foam along the horse’s withers, “but he still wants to get away, you can see it in his eyes — at least, in the part of them that’s not entranced by you.”

“Yeah, this is getting a little weird,” she reached out to pet the fuzz along the front if the beast’s nose. It leaned into the touch, but otherwise remained still, eyes still trained on hers. “How do you think we should get him back? I have the non-emergency line for the police, maybe they can contact the owners.”

Later, she would think that the flare in his eyes wasn’t just a trick of the light.

“Well,” he directed the horse to step sideways. Surprisingly, it obeyed, still eyeing Barbara from its periphery. “I was thinking, perhaps, that we could ride him back. You know, take the long way,” he shrugged, “see the sights.”

“Oh my God.”

“What?” he laughed.

She folded her arms, entertained by his antics. “You’re going to _steal_ the horse? That’s your plan?”

“Only for a little while -- it’s more of a rescue, really,” he defended, voice still flecked with amusement. “Poor Paddy here wants no part in the parade, and, tell me if I’m wrong, but I believe we might benefit from the lack of a crowd as well.” The look on his face was magnetic, and utterly bathed in self-confidence.

“What do you say?” The tilt of his head worked to further entice her, as did his proffered hand.

If he was trying to seduce her, it was definitely working, she thought as she bit her lip. Still, she had to make this a little challenging. Just to keep things interesting.

“His name’s 'Paddy' now?” she said as she put her hand on her hip, canting her stance.

“For a few hours, yes. Seemed appropriate.” His gaze grew hazy, knowing that she was catching on. “He’s Paddy, and we’re horse thieves.”

“And what about the picnic?” Her own brow taunted.

Green eyes followed hers to the checkered blanket on the ground, as well as his basket. “The rocks and basket should hold it down. It’s tucked pretty well behind the thicket; should still be here when we return. And if not, well, I think it’ll be worth the loss, don’t you?”

“And our shoes?”

“Oh, we certainly won’t need those.” The smile he shot her was dauntless, if not somewhat beguiling.

The doctor stood for another moment, and then laughed and shook her head. “You are absolutely insane. You know that, don’t you?”

“It’s practically a requirement for teaching the eleventh grade.”

Another snort as she stepped forward. “So you know how to ride a horse?”

“Yes, I do. Surprised?”

“Somehow, no,” she took his hand, gaze still incredulous. “But I’m beginning to wonder if there’s anything you can’t do.”

“Plenty of things I can’t do.” He shrugged. “I never did learn how to properly play the Sitar, for one. Quite a loss. I don’t know a wit about human anatomy for seconds -- afraid you have the advantage there. And third, I’m powerless when it comes to resisting the charms of a certain doctor named after a large body of water.”

“Doctor Rivers must be a lucky man,” she blinked, deadpan.

“Oh, most certainly,” he snorted. “But I think I was referring to a different vessel of water that has managed to fill my heart.”

“Lay on any more of that sweet talk, and I’m going to need an insulin shot.”

“Might be a short holiday for you,” a smirk.

Blue eyes crinkled with amusement as she spoke her next words. “And I don’t know about not knowing your way around human anatomy,” she squeezed his hand in implication. “I think we have different opinions on that.”

The slight blush that adorned his cheeks was lost to her as she hoisted herself up with his grasp, struggling to climb on behind him. Just as she began to throw her leg over the saddle she saw him tug at the reins. The horse stepped back with a snort, and she fell forward and into his waiting grasp.

“Up you go,” he said as he swung her around and to the front of the seat.

“You did that on purpose.”

“I did,” he scooted her back and into a more comfortable position. “Because I’m not the one driving.”

“Uhhh,” she paused, blinking. “Okay, the last time I rode a horse was at a carnival when I was five years old.” She held the according number of fingers in the air. “It wasn’t even a horse, actually, it was a pony, and the poor thing was chained to a metal wheel that moved when someone pulled the reins. So, this is a horrible idea and I think we should reconsider.”

The slide of his cheek into her hair gave her pause.

“Take the reins love,” he whispered into her ear, placing a kiss where he spoke. “You’ve always had them.”

Shivering at the touch, and at the gravity of his words, she nodded. “At least I warned you.” She managed through a breath.

“He likes you better,” he assured, still lingering near her neck. “And I have faith in your abilities. Now,” he said, as he set the leather strips in each of her palms, “hold the reins just so.” He guided her fingers to their proper positions and set her arms to pull back with a small amount of pressure. “Good. Now, give him a bit of a kick to get him going. Small, but firm -- I highly doubt he’ll dash with his fatigue, but we don’t want to encourage. Fear not, you won’t hurt him.”

Biting her lip, she did so, and the horse went forward, gentle, as if the beast knew she was nervous.

“Oh, I see how it is. Wouldn’t budge and inch for me. First try for you and he’s off. What an arse.”

“Maybe he senses my Irish blood.” she said over her shoulder.

A vague sensation tickled at the back of his mind. He felt odd, like he was missing something.

“’Luck of the Irish’ indeed,” he shook the feeling away.

“Any ideas on where to go?” Her eyes scanned their surroundings. “I don’t get outside enough to know this place very well.”

“Hmm,” he mused, hand to chin. “If we take the Nature Trail, there’s a path that cuts further into the woods. I’ve been on it, but never very far. It may lead toward the mountains. Perhaps we can even catch a view. It’s a beautiful day. Why don’t we see where it takes us, hmm?”

“Sounds good to me. Just tell me when to turn. And maybe _how_ to turn,” she laughed. “I know you tug on the reins, but I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

“Ah yes,” he chuckled, having nearly forgotten his role as instructor. “Tug _and_ kick, actually. Tug where you want to go, and kick on the opposite side. There is indeed a proper way to both. Let me show you,” he slid his hands over hers once more, and continued their lesson.

***

Half-an-hour later, Barbara felt she had the hang of it. The horse, even beyond its fatigue, was well mannered and seemed much happier now that it had gotten away from the crowds. Walter had been right about the trail, and the path it carved toward the mountains. It was well trodden until a point where it forked, half of it circling back toward the valley, while another barely visible sliver of a trail cut into the brush. They took the latter, and a ten-minute trudge uphill—in which “Paddy” had done an excellent job navigating the undergrowth (or so Walter had commented)--found them hovering at the threshold of an opening in the trees. A large and luscious meadow awaited them, where the grass grew tall against a westerly view of the landscape. They were on a mountainside, and beauty of its surface stunned her. Wildflowers reigned abundant: the whole field bustled with blooms, a rainbow of red, yellow, purple, and white that flourished amid the seemingly orchestrated greenery. Tall trees cocooned the area in seclusion, and they couldn’t have asked for a more idyllic patch on which to enjoy their afternoon retreat.

“Wow,” she said as he slipped off of the horse behind her and guided it by the reins into the center of the glen.

He held out a hand and caught her by the hips as she came down, letting her body slide down his as he begged her lips into a kiss. Her feet never made it to the ground, legs unfurling like petals as they rose and curled around him.

Neither one of them was a fool. There was a reason they’d sought isolation from the crowds: she was a doctor, he was a teacher; both of them were well known and somewhat fastened to the public eye. It wasn’t good form to be snogging the daylights out of each other, as they were now. Nor would parents or patients alike approve of the way their hands wandered, Walter going for a particularly devilish grasp as he tried to snake his arms around her shoulders and her bottom all at once.

The rush of passion came on as suddenly as a spring rain, inevitable and strong. The changeling walked a dozen paces or so, ignoring any rocks or burrs, mouth wandering from her lips to her neck as he showered her in kisses. Gently, he circled her in his arms as lowered her to the ground, first sinking to his knees, and then bending until her head had found the grass. Legs still fastened to his waist, she clung to him, arms pretzeling around his neck as her lips continued to work against his. She moaned into his mouth, drawing it open, tongue flicking against his in challenge. He accepted the duel, jaws locking to hers, their tongues twining as he launched on the attack.

They were all but sharing throats by the time his touch glided down, startling her senses as he reached between her thighs and rubbed at the rosebud he knew was there beneath the layers of woven cloth.

He trapped her gasp within his mouth, his own moan joining her call, reveling in the way her body rocked against his ministrations. As they moved, he shifted their kisses into something slower, more erotic; an easy cadence that reflected their tranquil surroundings, and the way he felt.

“Walt we should,” another kiss as her hands groped at his jawline, “we should...”

Their teeth clashed as he laughed, then pulled back. “We should what, darling? I am ever at your command.”

She took a moment to catch her breath. “Don’t get me wrong, I really, really, _really_ want you to continue what you’re doing,” her voice faltered in ardor, “but I feel like he’s watching us.”

They both eyed the horse in the distance.

“Perhaps he can take notes.” Walter shrugged, then resumed the path up her shoulder towards her neck

“Wa-alt,” she pushed him back half-heartedly.

“Oh, come now. He’s a horse, Barbara.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “with huge eyes and -- and silent judgement.” Her own eyes widened in emphasis.

“Nonsense.” He pulled away from her, and flipped over to his elbows in the grass. “You don’t mind, do you Paddy?”

The horse nickered as he ate.

“See?” Walter smiled back to her.

“Oh, you speak horse now?” She laughed and trailed finger down his chest.

“Of course,” he drawled theatrically, “As I said, a kiss of the Blarney magic grants one a silver tongue. The legends don’t specify its limit to one language.”

“And do, pray tell, give us a translation.”

“He says he doesn’t mind,” he caught her hand along his chest, charm glinting in his eyes. “As long as we don’t soil the clover.”

“Uh-huh,” she bit her lip in amusement, “so it won’t bother him if I do this,” she pushed him back further, until _he_ was the one with his back to the ground, and then bent down to nip the tip of his ear. She heard the tremor in his breath as he released a lungful of air.

“No,” he shook his head, eyes wide, captivated.

“Or this,” she dipped down to suck on his pulse point, feeling him swallow in response to her lips. Her hands joined the symphony, working down his chest and stomach until they found their way to the edge of his sweater where he’d tucked it into his trousers.

The skin beneath her fingers trembled as she pulled up.

“He’s got his head stuck in the fronds, anyway.” The changeling struggled to explain, voice half-trapped in whispers.

“Or _this,_ ” her own breath grew heavy, and she bent low to press her lips against the skin she’d exposed above his navel.

“Barbara,” he intoned, both in surprise and relief as he tangled his hands into her hair.

It was clear to him that she was done with the games, done with teasing him and getting teased in return, and he concurred. Everything they’d done had worked up to a point of searing madness, and now there was nothing to do but fall into the most wonderful rhythm of release. 

Tantalizing, her lips worked their way up his ribcage, peeling away the fabric with each touch, reveling in every quiet shudder. When she got to his chest, her tongue darted out.

Out of his throat came a deep and lingering moan that made her tremble with power. Watching his green eyes flutter in splendor, she placed one last kiss at the center of his chest, near his heart, before tugging both his sweater and its accompanying blazer the rest of the way off. He helped her as best he could, shaking his bundled sleeves from his wrists until he was finally free.

The garments landed somewhere in the flowers. He started to unbutton her jeans in return, but before he could finish and pull her up to his lips, she was back on his neck and prowling her way down his torso. What had inspired such a frenzy, he could not know, but it hit him with such a fresh force that it knocked the breath out of his lungs and thawed the very last of the chill from his wintered bones.

It didn’t take long for her to undo the clasp of his belt, or to tug through the fastenings of his trousers as she sought his arousal. Relief washed over him when she finally freed him from the confines of the cloth, only to be replaced by the slowest torture as she worked a trained hand up and down his length.

He gasped at the fluttering of her lips along his thigh, sweet kisses followed by gentle nips, all marking a syrupy path that trailed around a yearning core. A part of him, the reflexively trollish fragment of his being, felt alarmed by the trail of conquest she was carving. Although he was aware of it as a ritual between humans, to use the mouth in such a manner was not common practice among trolls. (It was a matter of the teeth, of course, and the biting off of things.) Any past forays had been executed with a reigning sense of terror, and could only be enjoyed to the extent that his partner maintained the human form. Most changelings couldn’t once roused to a certain degree. He was the exception.

Of course, with Barbara, he didn’t have to be afraid, and if he hadn’t already known that based on presumption, her ministrations would certainly have convinced him. She’d noticed his jolt, and the way he’d initially withered from her touch. Their eyes met in the brief pause that followed, concern for his well-being stirring in her gaze, but with a shy nod and a slow rock of his hips, he encouraged her forward, and their dance continued.

By the time she finally coaxed him into her mouth, he’d been reduced to a series of long, thready moans woven between the hitches in his breath. At first, it was all he could do not to rip the plants from their knotted roots, what with the grip he had on their flower stalks, but then she eased him into a dawdling cadence that took the whiteness from his knuckles and saw his coiled form melting into the ground.

Each flick of her silken tongue was his undoing, and when she took him further into her mouth, his groan was deep enough to rock the entire mountainside. A thousand curse words (human and troll) struck his mind as she continued, but he kept them tucked beneath his tongue. Never once had he used slang in the context of their lovemaking, and he never would. There was nothing crass about it.

Inventive, adventurous, skilled…those were the words that harmonized and came to light when he thought of his lover, nothing vulgar, and they came to mind now (or at least the part of it that was still coherent) as she worked him to a puddle of pants and huffs.

Green eyes clamping shut, he trembled at the lengthy drags she was taking along his shaft, the whole of him flaring into a single point of ecstasy. In his stupor, he felt the first strings of release begin to snap within him. Although he relished the cloistered comfort of her lips, the reaction gave him cause for alarm.

“Please, love,” his long fingers brushed her chin, gently tugging in indication. As much as he wanted this, as much as he sought the pinnacle of his own pleasure against her lips, he wanted _her_ with him, needed to feel her own pleasure mixing with his -- not just because of the magic bond, but because he felt genuine affection for her. For the first time in his life, he sought someone’s well-being above his own. It both terrified and thrilled him.

 _That’s called love,_ a deep, cynical voice floated from the back of his mind, _you great green idiot._

With a smile, she pulled away from him, giving him time to calm down as she undressed. Not that it did much in the way of calming him, his lean eyes scraping hungrily over each piece of skin that came into the sunlight.

The pause ended just as she tugged her jeans away from her ankles, pulling her socks off with them, before she sent them off to join the rest of the crumpled clothing. As she did so, the ghost of his hand teased her sides, tracing the constellations of goosebumps that had gathered there in the wind. They weren’t allowed to overcome her; not with his presence so close to chase them away. His trousers, already slackened on his hips, followed suit with hers, and then his long fingers curled around her elbow to pull her closer. Cold tongues of grass licked his back as he reclined them both, but he ignored them, favoring the warm rush of her lips as they crashed against his.

Scamp that he was behind the human guise, an idea sprouted, one that might have elicited a snicker had his mouth not been otherwise distracted.

“Ouch,” came the hiss a few seconds later. The doctor rubbed a hand where he’d pinched her bottom.

If looks could be called ‘cheeky,’ his certainly was. He fought the urge to laugh as he spoke his next words:

“Now who’s not wearing green, hmm?”

Face already flushed from her previous excursion, the doctor pulled back to shoot him a look of incredulity; something that made his devilish smile grow all the more, until he saw a spark pass through her gaze.

Taking her glasses off, she set them on a nearby patch of clover. His throat bobbed up and down as it worked a nervous swallow.

Expression turning wicked, the doctor shifted all of her weight to her knees and rose up, letting her hips slide over his thighs until she found his waiting erection. Two hands found his stomach, bracing herself (and him) for what was about to come. This time, it was her turn to give an impish look as she brushed the core of her sex across his tip, feeling it pulse against her.

The green of his eyes went completely black, the force of their collective desire sending shockwaves crashing through him. Gasping, his gaze snapped shut as he fought the urge to change into his trollish form.

“You’re wet,” he growled through clenched teeth.

With a shudder, she bit down on his lip, catching his moan in her mouth before she bent low to his ear. “And you’re mine” she nipped back.

He felt himself grow harder (though not to stone, thank goodness) and heard her small breath in response. Eyes still closed, he nuzzled the line of her neck, tongue darting out along its pale length.

“That I am,” he breathed, smiling against her skin.

A groan escaped her when his attentions wandered to her breasts, nose sliding over the softness of one downy mound before he nudged it up to his mouth. She all but clawed him when he began to suckle at its crest.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he said as he released the tip from between his teeth, and then pulled her back into his mouth. “I can’t.”

Her response came to him in small gasps and sweet whimpers, hands all over his hairline, clutching his head to her chest like a babe’s. 

The only nectar that came was his name upon her lips; a long and aching “Walter” that made him pulse with the desire to burrow himself inside of her. On impulse, his teeth skimmed their way onto her neck, would-be fangs scraping across the skin until he found the throb of a vein. There, he bit lightly, with just enough pressure to elicit a cry of want from his companion, before he made his way back to the peaks and valleys of her chest.

Meanwhile, his hands wandered like nomads around her shoulders, and through the crimson volume of her hair, unpinning the latter from its hidden clasps with a familiarity acquired by time. The red tresses fell, blooming around him until she looked every bit the goddess that she was, a forest sprite come to take her pleasures from his battered soul.

She rose up and the movement forced his lips off her breast. His besotted eyes fluttered open to gaze fully upon her. Her cheeks and chest were as red as ripened fruit, and the areas where he’d bitten or sucked were just beginning to flush with irritation. A long hand reached up and he smoothed over the tender blemishes he’d placed there; apologetic, save for the love that had created them.

Gaze floating lower, he felt his breath change, her body an endless garden, and he wanting to plant his seed, until they were both flushed and burgeoning with life. Lower, his touch fell, until his fingers spread along her hips, the tips of them digging in a carnal grasp.

Their eyes met and sparked, and then she lifted her body until she felt him nudging against her opening.

She took him slowly, maddeningly, shuddering against the first stirrings of his invasion, and the way he was about to fill her.

He opened his eyes to find her own squeezed tightly shut, wincing as she bit her bottom lip. Gentle as always, he didn’t force the entry, or hasten it by pushing to the hilt. Although they didn’t speak about it, he knew that she hadn’t always been treated with such consideration. It showed itself in the way she tensed before their coupling – subconscious and subtle, but undeniably there – causing pain both within her and himself through the bond. “Vaginismus,” she’d once spoken against his damp and questioning brow, and his heart fell apart upon further research. Later, he’d pieced together that it was trauma-based. Whoever had caused such a reaction deserved nothing less than the most severe of corporal punishments in his mind. He had theories, of course -- marriages were a breeding ground for sexual misconduct, and hers had not ended on the happiest of notes – but he’d never brought them to light.

One day, he thought, he would. But today was not that day, not amid these flowers in the sun. Until then, he did his best to offer comfort, sifting a hand through her hair as he rubbed at the small for her back with his thumb.

“Easy, love,” he whispered, “it’s alright.”

He both saw and caught the tear running down her cheek in response.

“All of you,” he added to the sadness in her eyes.

She knew what he meant; it was a phrase he’d used often in the past. He adored every part of her, “even the crusty bits,” he’d once spoken.

The pain came, and went, and throughout the spell he encouraged her with his words and with his touch. He felt the tension ease within her, and let his own tensity slacken in response.

Forehead bending low, she matched her breath with his, and then pushed him the rest of the way inside. The wind came around them as she gasped, pressure mixing with bliss as the enchantment tossed their senses together. Barbara didn’t know the source of such surges, or why things always felt so raw and carnal with him, but she chased after them regardless, reveling in the intimacy they spurred.

Having finally relaxed around him, she moved up and down his length, lungs fluttering as her eyes rolled back at the sensation.

“God, Walter,” she said between his own catches and gasps. “That feels so good. _You_ feel so good.”

The changeling’s mind was a kaleidoscope of sound and color, barely able to process what was going on beyond the sensation of being enveloped in her glassy warmth. Her pattern was unhurried, hips following a slow and tantalizing tempo that reflected a steady sense control. His insides fizzed with pleasure, human skin quivering with each stroke of her clever fingers across his stomach and chest.

Out of his body came the most haunting waves of lust, tension mounting as his hips coiled and clashed with hers. Though his instincts wanted to hasten things, he fought against it. She was taking him at her leisure, driving him mad with want, but there was method in her momentum. Like tea leaves, or coffee, a long smolder led to a better finish — the time between them was something to be savored. Regardless of the plights of trollkind and her son’s involvement in the fray, she was human. All too quickly, her light would burn through to the last of its coals.

That love could thrive within that tragedy would ever remain a mystery to the changeling.

He dribbled murmurs and groans into her neck, fending off the sorrow, holding her so close that her feathery pants would deafen him. Their lips met in an awkward jumble of noise and he crushed her mouth to his, hand cradling her head as though it were the most precious of gemstones. When they finally ran out of air he pulled back, shaking hands grasping at her cheek.

“Your eyes,” he all but choked, plagued by sudden need, “please.” He didn’t know why he wanted to see them.

She opened them, heavy blues glistening against a singing sky, searing into his vision like the brightest dawn. And, oh heavens, the love that flowed within them: now he knew why; unloved creature that he was, he needed her heart.

Eyes still locked, he rocked against her, countering her movements, though with diffused force. Her body, already taught, pitched and strained with the friction it created, quaking in the throes of pure ambrosia. One uniquely amorous thrust, had his mind spinning with elation. He saw her eyebrows lift, and her eyes flutter, and heard her strained voice flow into the air.

“Whatever you just did,” she paused as her ribcage heaved, body slick with exertion, “dear God, do it again.”

He repeated the movement, his efforts clashing against hers, pumping in and out, until the feeling rose anew. This time, it was his brow that rose in surprise.

The sensation came from deep within her, unfolding like a secret flower until its brilliance blinded their senses. Barbara’s body took on an entirely new level of frantic. He knew what was going on—the angle she was at, her shortened thrusts--they’d found the other point of pleasure within her, but to experience the feeling in tandem with her was a wonder he’d never imagined. 

Though there were no stars out, he saw an aura of them now, dancing like a mobile around his head. Each sharp intake sliced through the air as she puffed and sighed and moaned in exasperation. The urge to take her completely had him groaning against her throat, hot flesh tangling with hers as he prayed to whatever god was out there that their tryst would never end.

The doctor's lips crushed into whatever mark they could find, hands raking at the ground, both of them rushing for the pot of gold at end of their collective rainbow. He found it before she did, his grip going white on her hips, reflexively holding her in place as he stiffened and came inside of her. His accompanying growl was strangled as he spilled into her, and out of her, his seed running over them both; taking far longer in his efforts than a normal man.

Reeling through the bond, she gave her own cry, nymph-like and pure, before she continued her desperate plight. One hand skimmed his side as she chased after him, breath running in threads, the feeling of his manhood wringing sighs and keens of sheer indulgence from her throat. Finally, she too found release. Biting down on his neck to stifle her noise, she shuddered, the orgasm rolling from deep within her, causing her whole body to seize and slacken with each staggering spasm of ecstasy. He held her through it, riding the waves, until he felt the last of her tremors drift away.

Her arms and legs were wobbly as she fell atop him, utterly spent from their tempest.

For a while, they simply breathed.

Barbara, for her part, could hardly move. “Oh my word,” she said eventually, sighing into his neck.

Eyes still closed, Walter chuckled beneath his breath and smiled. His tired hands stroked her back, body no longer crazed with desire.

Around them, the air was mild and warm, but the wind carried a chill that kept them clinging to each other. Barbara yawned and nuzzled further into his embrace. Exhausted from a combination of work, the riding, and their frolic in the meadow, she closed her eyes. Somewhere between the rhythmic pattern of his breathing and the warm rays of lulling sunlight, she fell asleep against him.

For his part, Walter remained awake for a time, watching her, touching her, kissing her hair—the flames of the latter burning straight into his cold, nocturnal soul. He could feel her heart softly pumping against him. It beat for him now, he thought, cleansing and recreating him, his new and greatest treasure. Whatever this was, it was written, fated, foretold; he knew it beyond the slightest hint of doubt, and where it would take them remained the stuff of daydreams and nightmares. Eyes softened with sleepiness, he eventually succumbed to his own exhaustion, and fell into a drowsy stupor. One rush of the wind through the leaves in the trees, and he knew no more.

***

The doctor woke in a relaxed daze, sunrays still washing over them, their warmth spilling into the meadow as the afternoon drawled into the evening. There were still a few hours of daylight ahead, but the sun was on its westerly branch, ready to begin its slow descent beneath the horizon.

Walter’s breath ran deep, still dozing against her, the slight crease in his brow making her eyes grow soft with affection. Somehow, they’d shifted in their sleep until _he_ was the one on top of _her_ , rather than how they’d started. It wasn’t happenstance, not with his meticulous mind. However subconscious, his body, had moved to shield hers against the elements, as well as other threats. She recognized the act for what it was, and the sheer rush of adoration she felt in response made her eyes water at their edges.

Not in all her years had she ever encountered such affection. He was a passionate lover, and thorough, to say the least -- there was no part of her that hadn’t been sated in the aftermath of rapture. What was more, he cared; not just about the physical parts of her that pleased him, but about who and what she was beyond it. Part of what had kept her out of the playing field of romance for so long (aside from the obvious lack of time and the many trials of motherhood) was the way she looked. She wasn’t oblivious to the world around her, she knew she was attractive for her age, and it often elicited a shallow reaction in her fellow man. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d received a lewd stare or an inappropriate touch from a patient or fellow parent, to say nothing of the scattered dates she’d been on since her husband’s departure. Of the latter, there had been some gems among the gravel, but the world was full of hungry eyes and some saw _only_ with their eyes.

That hadn’t been the case with her son’s instructor. They both enjoyed the physical aspect of their relationship, but he didn’t focus on it, not like other people. At this stage, she was certain that she could turn to stone and he would still seek out her company, and the comfort they shared. She felt the same.

He jolted in his sleep, and sighed, breaking her pattern of thought. Unable to resist the urge to kiss him, she craned her neck to smooth her lips across his temple.

Rousing, he drew a breath in through his nose, and rubbed his face where it had pillowed against the lean but ample rise of her breast. Green eyes blinking up at hers, he smiled serenely.

“Hello,” he said, lips caressing the softness of one mound before he endeavored in a cat-like yawn.

“Hey,” her lithe fingers combed through his hair as the tresses of her smile went lopsided. 

“And there I thought I’d suffered all the wonders of this world.” he said, drowsiness crackling in his voice. A hand rose and he traced his thumb across her lips, “but here I am within your arms beneath this sky...”

A moment found him rising up and grazing her lips in a kiss. They took their time: slow, sensual, until he pulled away and scooted up to tuck her head beneath his neck. He found her glasses, and gave them to her, then propped an arm behind his neck to afford them a view.

For a while, they simply lay together, legs stretched out and twining in repose, admiring the landscape that stretched for miles beyond their vantage. The calming haze of insects and birds washed over them, and the warm, blue sky tantalized their eyes, bearing light puffs of clouds that wandered like vagrants toward the east. The mountains beyond hummed with their own colorful displays, bearing flowers that covered the entire spectrum of light.

“You’re like something out of a fairy-tale; you know that, right?” She commented after a time, fingers toying with his.

A chuckle escaped his breath. “The frog prince?” he joked, mostly to himself.

In the distance, they heard the horse ( _oh yes, the horse,_ he thought) give a long and lingering snort, as if exasperated that he was being ignored. 

Barbara jolted against him. “Paddy!” she shouted, having adopted his name, turning to look at the creature. “Oh God, do you think we traumatized him?”

“Hardly,” Walter huffed. “He would have no qualms against doing the same in our presence. And, besides, back in my day it wasn’t an issue. You could barely use the restroom without the prejudice of an equine eye, much less do anything else.”

“In _your_ day? You’re not _that_ old. Let me guess, forty-two? Answer to the universe. I still don’t get why you won’t tell me.

“I stopped counting once the grey hairs arrived. And _Hitchiker’s*_ , Barbara? When did you read that?”

“I do have a life outside of work. You’re avoiding the question.”

“Hmm,” he hummed and pecked the top of her head. “Age is only in the mind.”

“Tell that to my back and shoulders.”

He chortled beneath his breath, then settled his head back, flush with the ground. The flowers above his eyes shivered against the blue sky in the wind.

That was when he noticed it. He’d been staring up at them the entire time while they made love, and though he’d certainly been distracted, he knew change when he saw it. The growth around them had expanded and matured, bending toward them, as though trying to sheath them from the world.

He blinked once, then twice, trying to shake the illusion, and then reached up to grasp one of the blooms. Barbara caught the look of confusion in his eyes. 

“You know,” his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in a swallow, “I could swear these blossoms were smaller when we got here.”

She snorted in amusement, nuzzling his chest before resting her chin against its center. “Well,” she said, head rising up and down with his breath. “I’m pretty sure I made _something_ grow in my presence, but it wasn’t the flowers.” 

“Cheeky monkey,” he squeezed the ridge of her cheekbone.

“Another pinch? Really?”

“You’re still not wearing any green, I fear. Justice must be served.” The flowers he kept in his mind for later thought. He might have chalked it up to the sex, if not for the metallic tang of magic he could taste within the air. Though he worried over Angor, it seemed unlikely that the enchantment was at play, or that the troll assassin lingered anywhere near them in such broad and all-encompassing daylight.

“What about these?” She slid a leg up his side, until her knee was visible in his periphery. “Grass stains. I think that counts.”

“Well in that case, we’re both covered,” he laughed, bell-like and deep.

She crawled off of him then, and though he lamented the loss of her warmth -- hand sliding down until the very last moment when her ankle slipped away -- he found consolation in the view. In all things, he found her beautiful, even as she rooted around for her clothing in the grass. The deep, red roots of her hair clashed excellently with the greenery, and her skin was pale and wonderful against the sky. The strangest part of it all was that she looked like she belonged there, like the very flowers and roots around her were yearning for her guidance.

He was caught in the midst of a trance, centered both around her nudity and her inherent affinity with verdant things, when a pair of flying khaki trousers hit his face. 

“Oomph,” he groaned as he peeled them away.

“Revenge for the pinch,” she explained as she donned her undergarments, “and you looked like you were about to drool.”

“Hard to avoid around you, love.” he said, rising up and striding over to help with the clasp of her bra. 

This time, it was her turn to admire his naked form: the sinews of muscle that stretched and contracted beneath skin and over bone, the slender trail of hair that marked a path from his navel to the more enticing areas below, and the air of refined elegance with which he always carried himself, clothing or none. He was a strange combination of thin and well-muscled, and although she was certain that anyone would have found him wildly attractive, it fascinated her how little he entertained in the way of bashfulness. Although he had a strong sense of decorum, and dressed himself consistently with barely an inch of skin in view, he seemed not at all reserved to be so fully exposed around her. In a way, it surprised her, as bookish as he was, and yet it matched the confidence he wore in all things. 

He’d hardly finished with the clasps when she donned the green shirt, and then tilted her head backwards to look at him.

“I’m untouchable, baby.” Her grin was impish. 

“We’ll see about that.” 

And there they were again: he trailing kisses down her neck and shoulder, she circling her arms around his waist as she rubbed up and down his torso. Lucky for both of them, the horse whinnied before her shirt found a reason to be in the grass again. 

“Oh, don’t get your saddle in knots, we’re coming!” Walter shouted as she laughed. “Must be mealtime,” he explained in lower tones.

“Or that,” she pointed to a distant gathering of clouds. Just as the wind had brought flowering and warmth, so too did it bring thunderclouds and the dampness of rain. 

“Ah, best get going, then,” he said as he handed her the jeans. “Paddy has a stable waiting somewhere. And then, of course, there’s the matter of our shoes... ” 

She laughed. 

***

By the time they were fully dressed, the horse had come up to them again, a mouthful of grass between its teeth as it munched away happily in the wind. It seemed content to stand there as Barbara stroked its neck and mane, its intelligent head cocked up in curiosity as it gazed into her eyes. After a moment, she kissed the side of its cheek and it snorted in delight. 

“Am I being cuckolded by a horse?”

“They say you’re supposed to kiss someone Irish.” She cooed in the horse’s direction, rubbing her face against its fur. “Who said it had to be a man, huh?”

 _I’m not a man,_ he thought bemusedly as Paddy nickered again.

“Alright, charmer,” he said to the horse, tugging the girth of its saddle as he finished checking to make sure everything was snug and in place. “It’s time to take you back to your _own_ kind."

“Ooooh,” she gasped dramatically, still check-to-cheek with the creature, “he’s jealous.” Her eyes sparkled into Walter’s, “he’s so, so jealous. Don’t let Mr. Grumpy-handsome-face talk to you like that, he’s not _your_ principal.”

“Mr. Grumpy-handsome-face,” he remarked, propping an arm against the saddle, “now _that’s_ a new one. I don’t know whether to be flattered or affronted.”

The side of her lip tugged upward and silently, almost shyly, she reached a hand out to brush his jaw. “I’ve had an amazing time. Really. Thank you.”

And just like that, he lost all control over his expression, feeling it growing soft and fond, and utterly unlike anyone had ever made it before.

 _God dammit, tell her you idiot._ a voice shouted in his head. _Tell her._

“Barbara,” her hand was in his now, and he palmed her fingers nervously.

 _I love you._ His mind furnished the phrase, but it refused to come to light.

Instead, his eyes watered in an embarrassing display fit for a pubescent youth, not for a centuries-old creature disguising itself as a polished, middle-aged man.

“Ah,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “curse this infernal pollen.”

“Are you okay?” her hand fell to his jacket.

“Yes, yes,” he waved the moment off. Then, a thought hit him. He took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. “Barbara, can I ask something of you?”

“Yeah, of course.” she eyed him over the rim of her glasses. “Shoot.”

“This may sound daft, or presumptive, or even exaggerated,” he took her hand, and they both steadied themselves against the horse’s small movements. “But these past months, spending time with you, getting to know you...they’ve been some of the happiest of my entire life. Even beyond these playful romps -- beyond what’s going on between us physically -- the friendship we share, your soul, it has captured me, body and mind. I don’t want to be apart from you. Not now, not ever.”

Though warmth still danced in her gaze, her expression became somewhat befuddled. She tightened her grip on his hand.

“But I fear greatly what is to come between us concerning Jim. I know that this isn’t the best time to entertain this discussion, given the approaching squall, but he doesn’t like me. I do what I can at the school, but my interactions with him have become a game of cat and mouse -- petty squabbles where I find myself drawn into being small-minded. I'm aware that things between the two of you have become equally as strained, and I feel tremendously at fault, even if I’m not entirely the one to blame.”

The smile faded from her features entirely, and he cursed himself for choosing this moment to take it away. She had no means of knowing what he was really speaking about, but the words resonated with them all the same. There was a storm coming, and not the one overhead – he had to prepare her, to warn her, regardless of the cost.

“Walt, where are you going with this?”

“Nowhere, really.” he muttered, looking to the ground, losing track of his slippery words. His grip on her hand tightened, as if to keep himself from falling. Fraud that he was, honesty wasn’t his forte. Being open with her made him feel exposed, open to attack, sore from a life of lashes against such vulnerable behavior, but she deserved his honesty. “I’m afraid,” the words barely escaped his autocratic tongue, stumbling out of his lips in a whispered heap, “truly afraid, of losing you. It’s difficult to explain, but I’ve never let myself get this close to anyone. If what’s going on with Jim ever forces us apart…” he trailed off.

It wasn’t a matter of “if,” but “when.”

“Sweetheart, Jim will come around eventually. He just needs some time to adjust.”

Although she exercised the habit with Jim, Barbara rarely used pet names with him. He didn’t know why (likely, they were a reminder of her former husband, or perhaps it seemed unfitting), but her use of one caught his attention, as did her hand along his cheek.

“I just want you to know,” he grasped her roaming hand, placing it on his heart (and it was his real heart she felt pumping beneath the human façade, he thought in vague reassurance, not a fabrication), “and I hope you will remember, how happy we were. This,” he squeezed the hand, pressing it further into the fabric of his jumper, “was real. You will question that one day, I fear. Tell me you’ll remember, tell me you’ll believe me. Please.”

And there it was again, that quiet desperation, the hovering despair that lurked behind his feral gaze in the wake of vulnerability. So confident was he in his everyday demeanor that she often questioned its presence, until moments like this when it came crashing into the forefront, the wild-child of fear and love, uncontrollable and strange. 

She moved her thumb where he’d lightly pinned it along his chest, trying to calm the rising tides within. Her eyes, equally as plagued by turbulent waters, bored into his, though where his spirit tossed and turned within the swells, she kept her mast straight, and bore the waves as though she were meant for them.

“I know that neither of us are into talking about the past,” She began after a moment. “But whatever happened to you before this, whoever hurt you, I’m not here to repeat that history. Just because things are difficult with Jim, doesn’t mean I’m going to drop everything and leave you. We’ll work it out. I trust him to see past what his father did. Right now, he’s blurring the two of you together, and he thinks you’re going to hurt me like James hurt me. It’s upsetting to him, but honestly he could use someone like you,” she tapped the thumb against his breast, “someone who can show him that letting a father figure into his life doesn’t equal having to end up in pain. You have the power to teach him that, and I think it’s a wonderful opportunity that we should both explore if you’re interested in continuing along this path with me. You’re free to abandon our relationship whenever you lose the heart, but I’m not going anywhere, not as long as you want me to stay.”

If he hadn’t felt bad enough before, he certainly felt terrible now.

 _Oh, you are a monster,_ he thought to himself, _hideous and harmful, you really are._

“I want that. Of course I do,” he said to her piercing blue eyes, the shock of them igniting his soul. “I’m fond of Jim, and I swear on every star that I’ll try my best to restore the faith he’s lost in me.” He wasn’t lying. “And I’m not going to ‘lose the heart.’ You have no reason to fear that. How could I, when it’s already so very lost?” He took her hand off his chest, kissed it, let it go. They had to be going; he was wasting her time with his nonsense, and he knew it. The future was the future, however anguished, and it was his duty to give her what he could. 

_While_ he could. 

“Smooth as cream,” she commented, trying to recover their lost mirth, “maybe I really am magic.”

“Ah,” he said, regaining his composure, “shall we toss you into the water to see if you sink or float?” 

“As long as it’s a bathtub,” she smirked, “maybe a nice, fancy one like the kind you have in your apartment. Hint hint, nudge nudge.” 

“Fancy?” a brow rose. “It’s a clawfoot, darling, not a Jacuzzi. And you have one, if I recall.”

“Yeah, but yours is actual cast iron, not acrylic, and it has the little curve for your head…” she began to list off the amenities. 

“Slipper style?” he offered. 

"Yep, that, and it’s completely detached from your shower, so there’s no musty curtain; and really, who needs waterjets when you have a strong, warm, capable, long-fingered —" 

“Oh, well when you put it _that_ way!”

The doctor laughed as he pecked her on the cheek.

“And you’re intending me to come in there with you, I presume? You know it’s only big enough for one.” he said as he turned and began to toggle with the straps of the saddle once more.

“We’ll make you fit,” she slid her hand across the horse’s fur as she came around, and couldn’t resist sliding it across his hips as well. “In my life and in that bathtub, got it?” 

“Alright,” he said as the rain began to fall, splashing all over her glasses. “A bath and a bottle of wine. My shout. No doubt, we’ll need it after this soggy mess.” 

He helped her onto the horse, and then himself, before they trotted away, laughing into what would one day be just a memory.

**Author's Note:**

> * Reference to _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ by Douglas Adams.


End file.
